OK, It’s Later
As I read through her pages,
They take on many meanings and none at all.
As for her art, I love it for its imperfections.
If it were perfect,
I would feel like I was in a cage.
I sense her influences.
She writes as if captive in a sunny breeze.
Many moments make me pause.
But that’s the game,
And whatever they say, it’s no small thing.
I don’t want this house to eat its young,
But once you hop down from the tree
It’s hard to get the bird off your shoulder.
You must resort to these tricks
To keep the bird from seeing its shadow.
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